


The moon is so bright

by Prim_the_Amazing



Series: DRIVEN MAD BY LUST [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Cannibalism, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Murder, Violence, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 14:56:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18100751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: Felix and Locus were turned on the same night.





	The moon is so bright

Felix and Locus were turned on the same night. Camping out in the woods, hunting down a target that had fled into the wilderness to try and get away from them. It wouldn’t work. Locus knew how to track people. Felix’s contribution was to bitch about the mosquitos, the hard ground underneath his back as he tried to sleep, the poorly insulated sleeping bags, the subpar cooking, the cold, the smell, the noise, the shit, the animals, the lack of indoor plumbing, the boredom, the annoyance, the impatience; he also repeatedly and at length and with great intense passion described in vivid detail what he’d to do the mark as soon they caught him, as if they were solely responsible for every single thing that nature had inflicted upon him.

Locus has known that mercy is only a weakness for years now, but as Felix hisses a curse as his lighter refuses to spark (nevermind that smoking in the woods mind numbingly idiotic) Locus knows that he’ll be extra sure not to let this one get away. He’ll let Felix drag it out for as long as he likes. Locus is having the most miserable camping trip of his life, and now Felix is going to start suffering from nicotine withdrawal on top of everything else. He stokes the campfire with viciously restrained precision.

Felix hurls the empty lighter onto the ground, and then springs up and stomps on it.

“FUCK!” he shouts up at the full moon.

Locus stokes the fire and doesn’t bother to try and scold him about warning the enemy. They’ll catch the mark, one way or another. They’re not leaving this forest alive.

“I’m going out for a piss,” Felix grumbles, and stalks off into the dark. Locus grunts in affirmative.

He doesn’t pay attention to how much time passes. He just watches the flames slowly whittle away at the wood and tries to enjoy the peace while he has it. The mark is just a white collar criminal anyways, skinny and clumsy, their only talent happening to be their otherwise irrelevant hobby of hiking. They weren’t even good at stealing from their boss. He and Felix are here, after all.

In the distance, there’s the sound of animals fighting. Something canine, something like foxes or--

He looks at his watch. Felix has been gone for over half an hour.

Something cold slides down Locus’ spine straight from his brainstem, and he stands up, hands on his gun. He let his guard down let himself get rusty, _sloppy, that’s how you get yourself and your whole squad killed, soldier--_

A growl. He looks. Reflective, nocturnal eyes in the shadows, catching the light of his flickering campfire. His night vision’s shot from looking into the fire _(idiot)_ so all he can see is a silhouette just past the shaky circle of light the fire casts. Slowly, Locus moves his sniper rifle slung over his shoulder into his hands, into position. He takes aim. (He used to like animals.) He’s killed people. He can do this, easily. His mind is clear.

He flicks on the mounted flashlight on his sniper rifle.

The wolf snarls at him and springs out from its tense, coiled up ready-to-bolt-or-lunge position and charges him. It’s wiry and large and _fast,_ and Locus doesn’t hesitate when he squeezes down on the trigger. He’s too used to killing humans, to how _people_ move when they’re in a fight. His shot hits, he knows the sound of a bullet going through flesh, but the wolf doesn’t collapse or even slow down. He shoots again, but it’s too close, its within his guard, its claws, its maw--

Its teeth close around his neck, and he just barely jerks enough away so it doesn’t clamp down on an artery. His arms move to get it around the neck, to squeeze and snap until it goes still even as he bleeds.

But something goes wrong. His mind whites out in a way it never does when he’s in danger, when he’s fighting. His hand falters. He collapses to his knees, then his side, the wolf letting go of him and backing away like he’s the dangerous, hostile one. The wolf has tatters of Felix’s shirt clinging to some of its fur.

He rolls onto his back, somehow.

The moon is so bright.

 

When he wakes up, Felix isn’t there. Felix is his partner. He has to find him. He tries to get up, and fails. Everything hurts, everything aches. The wolf, the teeth. He clasps a hand down on the wound on his neck, and finds nothing but new-old scar tissue. He squints into the soft sunlight filtering through the leaves, feels the gentle bird song drill into his migraine. There are pine needles itching against his skin. He’s naked. Fantastic.

After a while, he manages to get up, survey his surroundings. He’s in… a wooded area. Unfamiliar. Nothing but him as far as he can see, which isn’t far at all considering all of the foliage in the way. It’s somehow more upsetting that his gun isn’t in reach than his pants.

Something strange is going on. He was wounded, and yet he isn’t. He assumes that he’s still in the same forest, on the same mission. But what if he isn’t? The scar feels so old. He must be missing time, _months_ of it. The thought kicks up real, genuine panic inside of him which he ruthlessly clamps down on. Everything will be fine. He just has to find Felix. They can’t _both_ be missing time. Felix will be able to cover for his weakness, just like they always do for each other. It’s how they survive. He takes a deep breath.

He pauses, and takes another. That, that smell. Cloying cologne, gun oil, those cigarettes that Locus will never be able to forget the smell of with how Felix works on filling the car and the motel rooms with their smoke. He’s smelling Felix, as well as if he had his nose buried into the crook of his neck.

Locus doesn’t question. He follows.

Not long after, he finds him. He finds Felix, as naked as him, back pressed up against a tree with another naked man looming over him, his hands on him. Felix is hissing and cursing and twisting, struggling but clumsily, like he’s drunk. He’s larger than Felix.

But not larger than Locus. He walks up, roughly grabs him, and throws him onto the ground, away from his partner. Their mark. Convenient. 

And then the man glares up at him and transforms into a monster. His face and his teeth and his bones and his skin _twists_ and Felix shrieks, “Don’t just _stare_ at him! Kill him!”

Locus lunges at him, wrestles with the monster on the ground. It snaps its teeth at him, huge and sharp, a deep growl that seems to have bass coming from its chest, and Locus realizes that it looks like a wolf now as he breaks one of its ribs.

Not the wolf that had bitten him, though. Not wiry enough.

This is around the time that Felix bashes its snout broken with a large rock. And then keeps going. Locus holds it still for him, past the time it stops growling and snarling and starts whimpering and whining, and for a bit after its stopped making any sort of noise at all. He usually has no time for Felix’s habits, for his tendency to linger over kills, but-- what he’d walked in on. He’ll let Felix get away with it without any sniping this time.

Felix lets the rock drop, covered in blood and gore, naked and panting.

 _“Shit,”_ he breathes, wide eyed, and then gives a toothy smile and laughs a little maniacally. Locus notices that he has two scars that he hadn’t had before: a bite mark on his left leg and a gunshot wound on his right shoulder.

There is an idea stirring in his mind. A ridiculous, foolish idea.

And then a wave of mind numbing want and heat washes over him, and it becomes hard for him to think for a while. He sways, and Felix catches him. And kisses him hungrily.

 

Things became instinctive for a while there, which is good, because they would’ve never figured things out, otherwise. They fucked, they got hungry, they hunted for food by smell and sound and they chased and they didn’t even notice the transition from running on two to all fours. They ate their kills raw, and then they fucked again. The cycled continued for a while. The full moon reappeared. Locus wakes up without any memory of last night again, but at least the aching want inside of him seems to have finally been sated in more than just a temporary, fleeting way.

Unlike last time, he wakes up covered in blood. There are gnawed on bones around him, with bloody bits of flesh still clinging to them in places. It looks like a wolf’s skeleton, but that means nothing.

Locus has never had to eat a person before. He would have, in the war, but he didn’t have to. He didn’t have to last night, but he did it anyways, apparently. He vomits.

 _Oh gross are you sick (don’t spread it to me)_ Felix think-says. It’s something they just haplessly slipped into during their near feral month together, only stopping to find it strange during times when rationality briefly came back to them. _Was it what you ate (because then I’m going to be sick too and I HATE being sick)._

_What if we/I ate a person (a human being, so wrong, no, can’t take that back, get it out)._

Felix pauses, tilts his head at him like he’s being strange, and then snorts. _Don’t be such a baby/wuss/pussy/fragile/sensitive (you should be better than this, my partner)._

Locus spits and bristles, nausea ebbing underneath the familiar dislike.

Locus stubbornly, spitefully (defensively) doesn’t talk again for the rest of the day, with or without a mouth. Felix huffs at him and leaves.

 

 _There’s a commune some miles off (people! Other than you! You’re so fucking boring! I’m so relieved!)_ Felix tells him after being gone walking all day. Locus isn’t surprised that they hadn’t noticed a large group of people living in this forest until now. They’ve been far too distracted with each other for the last month to notice anyone that wasn’t food, to explore, to look. In fact, he’s grateful that they didn’t know about them until now.

Locus doesn’t look at the bones strewn across the ground a dozen feet away. They still reek, but they’re starting to dry up in the sun by now. Ants swarm across them, nibbling at the remaining flesh.

 _People like us_ he goes on in Locus’ determined silence. _Animals/beasts/wolves (werewolves, ugh no sounds silly to admit to that but fuck it that’s what we are)._

Locus twitches, despite himself. _Information (we need to understand, can’t succeed on a mission without intel)._

 _Right!_ Felix says. _We can ask them what all of the rules are, learn how to wolf right (be so charming/helpful/helpless I don’t know what to do ma’am please tell me)._

Talking to people sounds exhausting. Standing up sounds exhausting. Walking past the bones sounds exhausting. He doesn’t say anything.

 _God fine (be that way you bitch)._ Felix rolls his eyes theatrically. _I’m the people person anyways guess I’ll take care of it (slick and funny and loveable, not like you, couldn’t not be scary for the life of you)._

Locus feels his lip curl away from his fangs a bit, even though he’s right. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t lift his head. Felix glares at him and walks away.

 

By the time Locus has worked up the will to bury the bones (like a dog with a snack) Felix comes back smelling like adrenaline. It’s been days.

 _DANGER_ Felix shouts and Locus is up on his paws, is ready. _ENEMIES FIGHT WITH ME PARTNER (watch each others backs that was the deal that’s the deal don’t you dare betray/leave me_ we have a deal).

Half a dozen werewolves are on his heels. Locus fights with his partner. They survive.

 

Felix doesn’t bother telling him why the commune wants to kill them now. Locus doesn’t ask. He remembers gently picking up the dead not-wolf’s skull in his teeth and carrying it to the hole he’d dug with his claws, carefully dropping it in.

He doesn’t ask, because he already knows.

(He thinks he knows.)

 

Locus talks only when necessary. Felix picks up on every undertone of guilt or regret or doubt that he has and criticizes it mercilessly, until Locus becomes much, much better at not thinking at all while he kills. He just thinks about what he needs to do, and doesn’t dwell. He lives in the moment. He lives in his body. He is muscles and claws and fangs, he is a weapon, and weapons don’t think. Soon there’s nothing for Felix to pick up on and to pieces the rare times he talks. Good. Locus hates the sound of his thoughts.

But they are partners, they are bound. Felix bit him. Locus helped Felix kill the wolf that bit him, they did it together. Turned in blood and murder, like a second much more fitting birth.

 

Locus bites anyone who comes close, because he’s a weapon and no one is safe, everyone is a hostile and dangerous and he needs to be sharp and brutal to survive, he can’t forgive or regret or doubt or be merciful for even a moment, or else they die. He bites without bothering to think about the consequences, about the future. Weapons live in the present, in the short term, in battle.

Locus ends up turning a lot of people. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t want anything to do with them. They’re weak burdens that will only slow him down, they don’t even have the grace to try and kill him after they’ve been bitten. He kills the ones who won’t take the hint and leave him alone.

Felix kills the ones who do. Locus lets him. He hunts them down laughing and howling and chasing and playing with them like a cat with a mouse. He loves how clumsy and inexperienced they are, how they don’t know how to properly run or bite or even talk. Helpless things. He eats them when he’s done with them, and he radiates satisfaction and power and zero guilt.

Locus is a weapon and has no opinion about it, besides that Felix is annoying and disgusting and likes toying with weak prey far too much, as usual. It’s a waste of time, and nothing else.

Between the two of them, no one Locus bites survives.

 

Locus is--

Locus has--

… Felix has been using him all along. Blatantly, obviously. Not an equal partnership. A manipulative cannibal and his pet attack dog. Locus was too blind to see it. Blind with overwhelming guilt that he was desperate to avoid, blind with anger and hatred. Somewhere along the way, he just stopped paying attention to Felix beyond watching his back and growling at him.

But here he is, with dead cubs strewn around him because Felix loves comfortably weak prey, and when he talks at Locus he can feel the all encompassing _disregard_ for him bleeding and oozing around every thought and word, the way he views Locus as apparent and yet easy to filter out as the sky. Thing. Tool. Useful. Dangerous.

Locus has been trying to make himself a weapon for so long now and he has never been so horrified, so repulsed as he is by his own success, by the exact thing he wanted and wished and breathed and dreamed and survived for.

Felix is not his partner. He is poison.

Locus doesn’t know what to do.

That’s a lie. Locus knows exactly what to do. Once, when the plane he’d been in had crashed, he had realized and accepted that he would have to manually break his leg to escape from the wreckage before the enemy converged on him while he was vulnerable in less than two minutes, and did so in less than three. He knows when an ugly answer is the only answer. He doesn’t shy away from it. He moves towards it with grim resolve.

Locus kills Felix.

It is awful. It is long. Locus tries to make it quick, efficient, like he always does, and Felix drags it out for as long as possible, like he always does. Felix screams and howls in his mind the entire time, a barrage of _NO NO I DON’T WANT TO DIE HOW COULD YOU WE’RE PARTNERS YOU PROMISED YOU SAID WE HAD A DEAL YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THIS YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO HURT ME IT HURTS STOP IT I DON’T WANT TO DIE YOU CAN’T DO THIS YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT ME NO IT HURTS I DON’T WANT THIS STOP STOP STOP_ STOP--

Locus feels every single drop of fear, so intense he feels crazed with it, like he’s losing his mind as Felix loses blood.

He wolf speaks to Felix as he does it, but he doesn’t think that Felix can hear him over his own terror; not even Locus can. He has no idea what he said, except that it was nothing but the truth. He wishes he knew what it was.

He knows what Felix’s blood tastes like, now.

 

Locus decides: he will never wolf speak again.


End file.
